


A Discovery In Gold

by KittyCamelot



Series: Pee Is Stored In The Heart [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Accidents, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Confessions, Crack, Desperation, Embarrassment, Friends to Lovers, Honey It's Just Pee, Kink Discovery, M/M, Masturbation, Omorashi, Porn with Feelings, Secret Identity, peeing, piss with feelings, take a chance on me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 21:54:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16773670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyCamelot/pseuds/KittyCamelot
Summary: "Hey," Shiro says softly, cupping his shoulder. His easy affection is too much for Keith sometimes. He never knows if he's reading too much into it, or not enough, or if it's simply somewhere in between, and right now the gentle way Shiro's thumb smoothes over the exposed skin of his collarbone threatens to throw Keith off-balance. "You don't have to tell me, but I'll listen if you do.""I know," Keith mumbles eventually, defeated. He brings his knees up to his chest and hugs them, head tilted as he regards Shiro regarding him. He wishes there wasn't this new, intrusive thought murmuring to him as he does so, but even when he squashes most other things beginning with P, he's still left with pining. Which, he supposes, is what he's doing right now.*Keith thought life was complicated enough, flirting around his relationship with his best friend and debating whether to admit his feelings. But one night, he discovers something, something he never thought he'd consider in the intimacy of his bedroom, and he can't shift the intruding thoughts that interlace themselves with his feelings for Shiro.





	A Discovery In Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [voxane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/voxane/gifts).



> for meg, who i love with all my heart and therefore with all my pee
> 
> here's a tale that tries to balance kink discovery with a new relationship. i think i'm hilarious. i'm probably not.

It's dark, curtains drawn tight and door firmly locked. Keith can't be too careful, not with two roommates and a dog that likes his personal space a little too much sometimes. There's nothing but the brightness of his laptop screen, the rustle of bedsheets and the slide of skin on skin. Sometimes, Keith's breath catches in his throat. Sometimes he can't swallow down the moan that rattles through his ribs and up onto his tongue. Sometimes his fingers stumble over his keyboard and he clicks on something he doesn't mean to.  
  
Sometimes, it's a good thing.  
  
A blank wall, a pair of thick thighs, a bulge that looks delicious even clothed in light grey denim. Keith licks his lips and strokes himself harder, scrolls with his other hand to read the caption and garner some idea of what's to come. Wet, punctuated by a string of splash emojis. _Hell yeah_ , Keith thinks, eyeing up the white v-neck that does a very poor job of concealing a hard set of abs, he definitely wants to see this body absolutely _soaked_.  
  
He presses play and waits, staring at the strip of skin exposed by the popped button on the jeans and following dark hair until it disappears between the metallic teeth of the fly. Nothing happens at first; the guy takes long, deep breaths that expand his already broad chest and Keith mirrors them, hand stilling on a downstroke so he can just _watch_ for a while. Then it begins, a gentle swaying of hips that teases, a flirty dance of temptation that has Keith dragging his lower lip between his teeth.  
  
It's been thirty seconds and there's still no water in sight. The guy's thighs begin to tremble, clenching momentarily before relaxing, over and over, and Keith decides that maybe it isn't some sort of wet shirt vid. Maybe there's some kind of toy inside him, a vibe working against his prostate, slowly pushing him over the edge. He's never found clothed coming all that sexy, too messy in his personal experiences, but he finds himself transfixed. A noise breaks through his speakers, a little gasp that fills the stillness in Keith's room. _Yeah, definitely a toy_ -  
  
Then it happens.  
  
A spot, no bigger than a penny, forms. Pretty weak when it comes to cum stains, Keith thinks, but then it grows. Slowly at first, seeping through the fabric towards the waistband. Better, Keith thinks, slowly pumping his erection again.  
  
But then there's a groan, low and guttural, surrendering. Keith hears it first, a hiss barely audible through the low volume settings, before he sees it; wetness, bleeding through the denim and seeping down one leg. The fabric soon becomes over saturated, sodden and dripping onto the ground below. The noises continue, but it's all relief, little whimpering sighs and a tiny _oh God_. Keith consumes it all, fist moving faster until there's nothing left but a deep burn thrumming through his veins and a man who's just pissed his pants showing the damage to the camera.  
  
He comes, harder than he has in forever, pulse hammering and lungs screaming for oxygen he didn't know he'd withheld Once somewhat calmed, he stares at the mess on his stomach, come caught in pubes and splattered halfway up his chest, and then at the guy stripping out of his soiled clothes. He thinks, as he's staring at white boxers tinged yellow, a towel wiping at muscular legs, that there are probably a lot of things worse than discovering you have a weird kink.  
  
Probably.  
  
Maybe.  
  
_Shit_.  
  
*  
  
He doesn't know what to do with the new information. It's not really the right time, either, considering he's just realising he's in love with his best friend and doesn't have the first clue what to do about it. Keith's sat opposite him now, tucked away in the corner of their regular diner, vinyl crackling under his weight as he shifts, trying his hardest not to imagine what it would be like to see him piss himself.  
  
_Dangerous_.  
  
Keith glances around, brows furrowed, feeling as if everyone can see his vulgar thoughts projecting onto the white leathered crotch of the Elvis poster behind him.  
  
"Hey," Shiro says, touching the back of his hand. Keith startles under his touch and meets his gaze with guilty eyes. "You're pretty distracted tonight."  
  
Keith swallows hard and prods at his plate of uneaten fries, slowly growing colder where he pushes them into limp, pathetic piles. "Sorry."  
  
"Is there something on your mind?" Shiro continues, dropping his pen on top of his revision notes and giving Keith his full attention. Keith hates how much he loves it, how Shiro will set everything aside to put him first. It makes him feel important, the centre of the universe if only for a few fleeting minutes.  
  
He tries to swallow down his heart, beating erratically in his throat.  
  
"I-…" Keith starts, but he doesn't know how to answer. Both his trails of thoughts are treacherous, thorny things that leave his mind raw and aching, and yet he can't think of anything else to say. He closes his mouth, opens it again when he thinks he can feel something sane sitting on his tongue and then licks his lips, trying to entice the words out.  
  
He ends up groaning into his hands. "I don't _know_."  
  
"Hey," Shiro says softly, cupping his shoulder. His easy affection is too much for Keith sometimes. He never knows if he's reading too much into it, or not enough, or if it's simply somewhere in between, and right now the gentle way Shiro's thumb smoothes over the exposed skin of his collarbone threatens to throw Keith off-balance. "You don't have to tell me, but I'll listen if you do."  
  
_I got off to someone pissing themselves last night_. They've always had a thing of sharing everything with each other, maybe to the point of unreasonable- Keith will always remember the freckle incident and how Shiro convinced himself he was dying because a weird, lima bean shaped mark had shown up on his left testicle- but this. It's too much, and Keith isn't _stupid_ , he knows when lines are fuzzy and faded and when they're bold and double yellow.  
  
"I know," Keith mumbles eventually, defeated. He brings his knees up to his chest and hugs them, head tilted as he regards Shiro regarding him. He wishes there wasn't this new, intrusive thought murmuring to him as he does so, but even when he squashes most other things beginning with _P_ , he's still left with _pining_. Which, he supposes, is what he's doing right now, watching as Shiro gives him a slow, easy smile before picking up his pen again. He chews the tip absentmindedly, lips curling around the plastic in a way that Keith watches a little too intently before scribbling something down in his blocky scrawl.  
  
Keith tries to focus on his own work- it's why they're here, after all, away from the distractions of either of their apartments- but he finds it increasingly harder to do. Somehow, he manages to keep his eyes down on his textbook, gets a chapter and a half under his belt in their comradely silence, before he begins to notice Shiro again. A foot tap, slow and steady under the table, sole clicking in time with Keith's heart against the tile. _Tap, tap, tap_ , he feels it in his throat, shuddering through his veins until it reverberates behind his ribs, the scrape of a heel repositioning itself scratching down Keith's spine.  
  
It's weird, being this hyperaware. Keith knows this and yet he's unable to help himself, glancing up and over his book to see Shiro shifting in his seat, one hand bunched in a fist whilst the other grips his pen, white-knuckled. There's a frown twisting one corner of his mouth, a tiny divot between his brows; Keith would ask if he was okay if he didn't already know Shiro'd rather maintain his focus. He gets this way, sometimes, over a particularly hard theory or a concept that just doesn't land, but Shiro's always been stubborn, steadfast. They _both_ have, and that's how Keith knows that he'd rather figure it out by himself.  
  
But he doesn't.  
  
After a few more minutes, Shiro groans. It's quiet, barely audible over the bustle of the diner, but Keith catches it. He drops his feet to the ground and nudges at Shiro's ankle until he looks up, and when their eyes meet, Keith can see the frustration creasing them.  
  
"What's wrong?" he dares to ask, bookmarking his page with a sachet of sugar and pushing it to one side.  
  
" _Nothing_ ," Shiro says, but it's quick. Defensive, Keith's quick to assume. It could just be a trick of the harsh fluorescent lighting, but there's definitely something off. Shiro seems paler, and his foot shakes beneath Keith's. In fact, his whole body seems to tremble with something uncontained. "I… just think I'm done for the night."  
  
He says that, but a minute passes and Shiro's makes no attempt to pack up, instead staring down at his scattered papers with pursed lips.  
  
"Are you alright?" Keith tries again, this time reaching for Shiro's hand. It's cold, but there's a clamminess to his skin that isn't usually there. _Maybe he isn't feeling well_. "Hey, let me get you some water."  
  
"No!" Shiro shouts, loud and abrupt. It cuts through the atmosphere and leaves it unbearably silent, still until the sound of someone clearing their throat breaks the tension that's gathered between them. Keith blinks but doesn't let go, levelling Shiro with a stare that bleeds concern. They blink at each other, Shiro dragging heavy breaths through gritted teeth before sagging, squeezing Keith's hand as he says, "No, I'm fine."  
  
"O- _kay_ ," Keith drawls, leaning over the table and punching Shiro's shoulder to punctuate just how fucking _weird_ he's being. Shiro grunts, but Keith doesn't think it's because he hurt him in any way. He's tense again when he pulls away, shoulders tight and jaw clenched. Keith watches a muscle flicker in his cheek for a second before deciding maybe he should give Shiro a minute to get over whatever the fuck is going on in his head. "I'll be back in a minute."  
  
He pushes himself away from the table and shoves his hands in his pockets, trying to ignore Shiro's soft sound of _something_ that follows him as he shoulders the restroom door open. He doesn't really know what he's doing, probably should have kept going until he was out into the alley around back so he could have had an emergency smoke, but he's here instead, glaring at his reflection in the mirror.  
  
He's alone, at least, which he doesn't know whether is a blessing or a curse nowadays, especially in regards to fucking _pissing_. He feels gross, imagining himself peeping on some unsuspecting stranger, so he's still got some common decency at least, but there's definitely a confliction there, working its teeth beneath his skin.  
  
"Fuck," he says, and then softly again as he turns to the urinals. It's too much to handle at once. Shiro, his feelings, this exploration of a part of him he didn't know existed until he stumbled upon the dark side of tumblr. He needs a nap, a long one, perhaps a shot or two to help him down, but most importantly he needs to get in control of himself. He's not some horny teenager anymore. He'd say it aloud if he was sure someone wouldn't walk in and hear him.  


  
He's pulling himself from his jeans when the door bangs open against the wall. Shiro stumbles through the frame with a jolt in his step Keith's never seen and he watches, hand still holding his cock, as Shiro fumbles for his belt with shaking fingers. He realises belatedly that he's stood openly staring at his friend's crotch still holding himself and forces himself to stare ahead and relax. He's never been shy before but then again, they've never done this. Pissing next to each other, something that Keith's done many times before with who knows how many strangers, but never Shiro.  
  
And now he's almost glad, because he's sure if they had he would have developed this kink a long time ago.  
  
Shiro squirms in the corner of Keith's vision, and he hears the creaking of his belt finally loosening and sliding free. And then, through his pulse rushing through his ears and the hiss of his own stream, it's there. Keith tries not to think about it, squeezes his eyes shut so the temptation isn't there, so the velvet darkness of his lids smother his senses, but it's there, hard and heavy and oh so _hot_. There's a groan- or a moan, but Keith can't think clear enough to decipher it- and through it all, he feels Shiro's shoulder brush against his.  
  
In his grasp, Keith can feel himself harden. He bites his lip as he shakes himself off; he doesn't know when he stopped pissing, but if he doesn't remove himself for the situation he knows he's going to be embarrassed. Even though he hates himself for it, he catches a glimpse of Shiro as he's zipping up his jeans. And who could blame him, he's huge even when soft, the sheathed head of his cock poking at least a few inches out of Shiro's huge fist. Keith's cheeks heat, and the warmth seeps lower, down his chest and pooling at his groin.  
  
_Fuck_.  
  
He's still going after Keith finishes washing his hands, and further still after he's dried up and wondering how weird it would be to wait for him. Not because he wants to watch, because he isn't, he's pointedly staring at himself in the mirror. Maybe his eyes stray to Shiro's back, to the tight muscles of his ass. Maybe they linger on his spread legs and the gold that slips between- but he's not watching.  
  
_Just leave_ , he scolds himself, and he's about to when Shiro's finally beside him, belt forgotten and hanging undone, pumping soap from the dispenser.  
  
"Um, you kinda…" Keith trails off, nodding down to Shiro's hips.  
  
"Oh," he says, wiping his hands on the backs of his thighs and reaching for the buckle. "Thanks."  
  
It's awkward. Keith doesn't know why- well he does, on his part- but there's definitely something between them, the same tension that was there in their little corner booth. Keith's hands find his pockets again and he pushes them inside, nails digging through the denim and into his flesh.  
  
"Feeling better?" he asks, grappling for something and freezing. _What the fuck. What the fuck, you idiot, you don't just ask someone if they're feeling better in a restroom_. Except, obviously, Keith does, and he hates himself for it. He's half a mind to just walk out of the room, but if anything that would make everything worse, so he grits his teeth and sticks out the silence, cursing his stupid, traitorous mouth.  
  
"Uh, yeah," Shiro says eventually, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He straightens out his appearance, flattens his shirt flat and smooths his errant hair, before turning his attention back to Keith.  
  
"Good," he says quickly, jaw aching from how tight he'd held it closed. "That's… good."  
  
The awkwardness follows them as they leave, lingers in the air as they pack up and curls between them as they make their goodbyes. Shiro doesn't even touch him, yet alone pull him into their usual parting hug. It leaves Keith with something sour in his stomach that curdles as he walks the few blocks back to his apartment, as he slams the door shut and checks his phone for a message that isn't there.  
  
He's face down on his mattress when he realises what the acrid film on his tongue is; it's the bitter taste of karma.  
  
*  
  
He doesn't stop thinking about it, though. Even through Shiro's radio silence that evening, Keith's thoughts keep drifting not only to his dick, but just how much liquid he'd expelled. Keith's bladder aches just thinking about it, but it isn't all unpleasant.  
  
He wants to know what it feels like.  
  
It's a distraction at least, a poor one of that. Keith downs a litre straight up at the kitchen sink, sloppy and desperate like a man dying of thirst- which, he guesses, he kind of is. Water runs down his throat and dampens his collar, and Keith feels the cool rush of it moving through his body, feels it settle heavily within him as he fills up another litre bottle. He knows there's such thing as water poisoning, at least, so he takes the rest back to his room and sips at it whilst he's doing all the work he should have caught up on at the diner.  
  
It doesn't take too long for him to feel it, a dull warning throb in his abdomen. Keith takes sick satisfaction at the sensation, pressing down on his stomach and shuddering. _Weird, but good_ , he concludes, curling his toes and flicking the now empty second bottle at his hip. He's not sure if he'd be able to get off right now but it isn't unpleasant, a different kind of fullness to that of a cock or the imitation of one that leaves him feeling just as vulnerable somehow.  
  
Once his work is complete, he decides to browse the dark side of tumblr anyway. Not for gratification, not really, but more out of curiosity. He has a favourite blog, one he keeps coming back to, run by the guy he first saw the video of- cassio-pee-a. They seem to specialise in clothed wettings, although there's other content spurred on by requests and speculation. Although he likes the videos- really, really likes them- Keith appreciates the form of his spoken word just as much, maybe even more so.  
  
There's a new post up, dated just an hour old.  
  
_An Unsuccessful Hold_ _  
__  
__I didn't have much going on today so I thought it would be the perfect time to test my limits a little. It's been a while since I'd attempted to hold, so I decided to take it slow. I used the bathroom when I woke up with the intention of only returning desperate or wet and began my regular routine, black coffee and a protein shake at breakfast, plenty of water through the day. I went for a run mid-morning so I suppose I sweated quite a bit out, but I definitely drank more to compensate. I lied- I did return to the bathroom, but it was only to shower. I had a date a little later on, and come on, I do have some standards._ _  
__  
__I didn't really feel it until after lunch- another coffee and a glass of orange juice for all of you that are wondering. I could feel it whilst I was studying, but it didn't consume my thoughts- you know how it is, a dull ache you can ignore, right? I decided not to drink much else for the afternoon in preparation for going out. I like to be careful, keep the embarrassment controlled and all that. You know how much I hate rating systems, but if you really forced me to use them, I'd put myself at about a six, maybe a five point five. Totally doable._ _  
__  
__It's about an hour into the date when I realised it really wasn't doable._ _  
__  
__Six flipped on its head and became a very urgent nine. I just wanted to spend time with my favourite person, eat some good (very bad) food, but I couldn't concentrate. It hit me like a freight train, and I don't use that term lightly. One second I was perfectly fine, if slightly uncomfortable, and the next I was trembling. I don't think I've ever been so close to having a full on accident that was actually a, y'know, accident. My date, bless them, knew something was up. They asked if I was okay, tried to get me to drink something. I could have cried. I almost did!_ _  
__  
__I feel bad, now. I was blunt, maybe even rude. They left, and I still don't know whether it was a good or bad thing. I managed to gain some composure but it was ruined when, horror of all horrors, I leaked. I. Leaked. It was only a second, barely any dampness, but it happened. I had to hold myself through my jeans as I pushed into the bathroom. I could barely undo my belt I was so desperate, I thought I was gonna lose it before I got the buckle undone._ _  
__  
__Somehow, I didn't. By the grace of something, I freed myself- and it's a good thing too because I wasn't alone in that restroom. I must have pissed for over a minute, two tops. I ain't gonna bullshit you with that 'it must have lasted five whole mins crap, but it was a lot, and it was pure relief._ _  
__  
__Let this be a lesson to you, folks: don't hold when you've got plans- you'll save yourself from a lot of embarrassment! I've attached a picture of my minuscule accident to sate any curiosity._ _  
__  
__Talk soon,_ _  
__  
__*Cass*_  
  
Keith scrolls down further to inspect the attached imagine- a pair of grey briefs with just the slightest mottling at the crotch. Sure, he's happy the guy didn't have a full on accident, but he craves something more, something visual. He searches through the tags for #irlomo until he finds a video he hasn't seen yet and settles back against the pillows- his roommates are out for the evening, he has reason to indulge.  
  
He's read recently that getting hard is a good way to stop yourself from wetting, and with the pressure in his bladder and a tremble to his thigh, it appears that now is exactly the right time to test out that information. Keith touches himself carefully, hyperaware of every slip and tug, how sensitive his skin is even with a persistent ache distracting him. It's easy to get lost in it, gentle groans and hushed hissing mingling with the huffs of his own breath, eyes flitting close and shutting out the image of thighs slick and gleaming, replaced with Shiro, slack lipped and sighing in relief.  
  
Shit.  
  
Keith's hips jolt, but he can't help himself. The image is there, now, Shiro at the urinal, next to him, the heaviness of his stream, the way his cock had looked leaking in his hand. It's dangerous, but Keith lets himself fantasise, lets the him from a few hours ago wrap his own fingers around hot skin, lets himself feel the intimacy of someone else's release, something he's so used to with his own body but unfamiliar when it comes to Shiro. Would he stiffen in Keith's hand, or would he be comfortable? He hopes, perversely, that he stays soft, so Keith can shake off the last droplets of piss or, if he dared, so he could wipe it away with the pad of his thumb.  
  
Keith comes to the thought, a few drops of gold on his fingertips that he'd wipe away on his jeans.  
  
He somehow, through the shock of it all, manages to maintain control of his bladder although it twinges in protest when he stretches across his bed for his tissue box.  
  
"Yeah, I get it," Keith grumbles, wiping release from his stomach and throwing the balled up paper in the general direction of his bin. "I'm getting up."  
  
Except, he doesn't get up. He stares at the ceiling, at the rustle of his blackouts in the slight breeze from his cracked windows, and then at his phone, playing the same video on repeat. It's laziness, he tells himself, not curiosity, that keeps him lying there until it's past an annoyance. He's done this a thousand times, stayed warm in bed instead of making the trip across the hall- but he isn't beneath his duvet. He's curled on top of it, jeans pushed down his thighs, dick still poking over the waistband of his boxers, and there's definitely still semen clinging to the coarse hair coating his stomach.  
  
Keith reaches for his phone and swipes out of tumblr, leaving him staring at his home screen. It's a picture of Shiro. He's there too, of course, head against his shoulder and smiling fondly at the camera. He hasn't sunk low enough to just have an image of his best friend- yet. He stares at his face for a while, the angle of his jaw, broad chin coated in stubble pressing into the crown of Keith's head.  
  
The image changes, a small circle with just Shiro's face, eyes screwed shut and tongue peeking out. It's his contact picture.  
  
Shiro's calling.  
  
"Shit," Keith gasps, hurriedly pulling up his jeans and tugging down his shirt. Unthinking, he flips onto his stomach as he answers. The resounding result is a breathy groan Keith tries to trap behind his teeth followed by a pained _hey_.  
  
"Keith," Shiro says, and his voice is almost enough to forget his discomfort. "Are you okay?"  
  
"Fine," he says quickly. Too quickly. He smacks his head with his free hand and wriggles against his mattress, trying in vain to get comfortable but finding it impossible. There's too much pressure on his bladder, but Keith doesn't know if he can flip over without moaning. He settles, for now, on gritting his teeth and bearing it. "What's up?"  
  
"I just wanted to apologise," Shiro says, and Keith's brows furrow. "For earlier."  
  
"Earlier...?" he repeats, working a hand beneath him so he can grasp at his crotch. Fuck. _Fuck_. This isn't good.  
  
"For my abruptness," Shiro clarifies. Keith had completely tuned out everything that happened before the restroom. _Right_. Snappy Shiro. He should probably have been a bit more concerned, and a wave of guilt curls around the ache in his stomach. "I was... working through some things. I shouldn't have taken it out on you."  
  
"It's fine," Keith says, and he means it.  
  
It's not fine, though- Keith's predicament, at least. Keith can feel himself slipping, can feel his body screaming for release, cock straining in his fist where he still holds it in an iron grip. His toes tap frantically as he tries to regain his composure, but he's not used to this, has never done anything like it before. People find this _enjoyable_? Being completely out of control of their own bodies?  
  
He feels a burst of wetness seep across his knuckles. "Look, Shiro-"  
  
"I've actually got something really important to tell you," Shiro, uncharacteristically, cuts in. Keith can tell he's nervous, can hear it in the slight tremor in his voice. _God_. He can do this. He's a grown ass _man_ , he can hold himself together for a few more minutes. "To _ask_ you."  
  
Keith takes a deep, shuddering breath and traps it in his lungs. "Okay."  
  
"I wanted to know if, maybe, you'd like to go out Friday night?" It comes out in a big, breathy jumble. Keith has to take a moment just to decipher the words, would laugh at Shiro's unnecessary nerves if he didn't know for a fact that it'd make him lose complete control.  
  
He gives himself a hard squeeze.  
  
"Yeah, of course," Keith says, slowly inching himself onto his back. The relief is immediate. Keith tries to hide his sigh as he asks, "Is something happening that I don't know about?"  
  
It's quiet for a moment. Keith can hear the rush of his carefully controlled breathing and, beneath that, the stir of Shiro's own. There's tapping, too, short and staccato, fingers on tabletop.  
  
"I meant, like, _out_ out," Shiro says, and when Keith still doesn't understand that, "Like, on a date, out."  
  
_Oh_.  
  
He shoots up in bed.  
  
_Oh_.  
  
He lets out a strangled grunt, dropping his phone in favour of shoving both of his hands against his crotch.  
  
_Oh_. Oh _shit_. Keith's gotta go. Keith's _got_ to _go_ , but he can't go, because Shiro's there, and he's asked him out and he's saying Keith's name as if he's lost the most precious thing in the universe. _Keith, Keith Keith_. It warbles into something taunting, as if he should have known that he couldn't handle this, couldn't keep in control. He takes a second to breathe through the desperation and once the worst of the wave is over, he reaches blindly for his phone.  
  
"I'm here," he pants, another surge crashing over him. Keith shudders. " _Shiro_..."  
  
"You can say no!" Shiro quick to reassure. God, Keith wants him so bad, but for the first time since meeting Shiro, he needs something _more_. His body trembles as Shiro continues to speak, as he tries to figure out what the _fuck_ to do. "You can say no and I won't be upset, Keith I promise."  
  
"Shiro," Keith tries, wanting to tell him not to be _stupid-_ but he can't. He can only manage his name, two syllables that push Keith to his limits. He hunches over himself; he's not sure he'd be able to make it even if he got up now. "Shiro, _ah_."  
  
"Yeah?" he says, cautious. He tries, he really does, but Keith can't stop the thin whimper that whistles through his teeth. He clamps a hand over his mouth but has to quickly move it between his thighs. "Keith? What's wrong?"  
  
"I gotta-" Keith gasps and hangs up, rolling off of his mattress and landing hard on the floor. His phone skitters, the impact jolting another hot spurt into the now undeniably wet fabric of his boxers. "Fuck."  
  
His first thought- minimise damage. His second- _release_. He's pushing down his jeans- fuck his stupid penchant for skin-tight denim- and reaches for the first thing he can think of- his waste paper bin.  
  
If he were forced to think about it, pissing full force into a plastic tub half full with crumpled revision notes, dick still trapped beneath his boxers, probably ranks as one of the lowest moments of his life.  
  
Getting it up again and jerking into the last dregs of his decency is there too.  
  
He stares down at the mess he's created and resists the urge to run his hand through his hair- it's warm and clammy with something that's not _just sweat_ and as depraved as Keith is, he doesn't exactly want to smear it over himself. He settles for wiping his palms on the back of his boxers and sighs. Shower first, then.. _this_.  
  
He stays under the spray long enough to wash away his shame- or, at least, dilute it down to something that won't show as a fiery blush in his cheeks. He's still home alone when he emerges from the bathroom, dirty laundry tucked beneath his arm to deal with later, so he decides now's a good enough time as any to clean his room. He could just dump the bin but looking at the state of the rest of his room, he feels like that'd be a bad idea.  
  
He's at the kitchen sink, bleach heavy in the air, when the front door bursts open. Keith jumps, heart thudding in his throat and Lance clambers in, arms full of groceries. He ignores Keith in favour of dumping his haul on the kitchen table, but Keith can't convince his muscles to relax, fist squeezing at his cleaning cloth until his knuckles are white peaks skimming above the water's surface.  
  
"Hey, Keithy boy," he says in greeting, ripping open a packet of _something_ and chewing loudly. "What are you doing?"  
  
"Cleaning," Keith manages to say, teeth gritted, shoulders at his ears. He takes a few, staggered breaths before forcing his nonchalance, scrubbing roughly for a few more seconds before admitting defeat.  
  
"Cleaning your bin? Something made specifically to get dirty?" Lance says, but he's laughing, not accusing. Keith feels himself sag, shaking his hands dry and pulling out the plug. "That's weird even for you, man."  
  
His only response is to shrug but Lance doesn't seem phased- he's already throwing himself onto the sofa with his new stockpile of snacks, controller in hand. Keith takes that as his cue to leave, disappearing with bin in hand, tail between his legs.  
  
"Hey," he hears Lance call out, and Keith risks a glance over his shoulder. There are a few seconds of silence as Lance tilts his head to the ceiling, followed by the deep rasp of him dragging air into his lungs. "Did Kosmo piss on the doormat again?"  
  
Keith sputters and stalks back into his room. _Blame it on the dog_. What an old school excuse, but it looks like it's exactly what Keith's resorted himself to.  
  
"Sorry, boy," he mutters, even though the wolf is no doubt happily wagging his tail at Pidge's side wherever she decided to take him today. He feels guilty regardless; it's him, after all, that's resorted to animalistic tendencies.  
  
He makes a mental note to buy his favourite treats from the store next time he ventures out and wraps himself in a duvet cocoon of shame for the rest of the evening.  
  
*  
  
Or, at least, he would have done if someone hadn't knocked on his door. Keith squints at the time- quarter past ten, not an ungodly hour at least- and pauses Netflix in time to see Shiro pushing into the room. He looks odd, pale and peaky with his hair lying limp across his forehead. Keith knows the look well, knows Shiro's spent his evening with his fingers fiddling in his forelock, fretting.  
  
"Hey?" Keith says, more a question than not, pushing himself up in bed. His eyes dart between his dirty washing and his laptop screen, then back at Shiro- there's still a tumblr tab open amongst many, the first illicit letters screaming from the screen.  
  
P I S S-  
  
Keith slams the lid shut.  
  
"Are you alright?" Shiro asks, hovering at the foot of Keith's bed, seeking permission. Keith sighs and shifts over, lifting the sheets for Shiro to settle under after toeing off his shoes. Their bodies press together, elbow to elbow, wrist to wrist. Keith resists the urge to link their fingers together; it wouldn't be the first time, but it doesn't feel right, not when he can feel unease rolling off of Shiro that penetrate the millimetres between them like a blade. It's not enough to pry them apart, but Keith can feel the cool metal tang of it as he shifts closer. "Lance said you were off. Are you ill?"  
  
"What? No," he says quickly, curling his toes into the mattress. He shakes his head, cheek brushing against Shiro's shoulder. "No."  
  
"It's just..." Shiro sighs and slumps against the headboard. Keith counts his breaths, three shuddery things that stir against the hair at his neck. A hand drops to his knee, large and warm; Keith can feel its heat seeping through the covers and into his skin. "You hung up on me pretty abruptly at quite a key moment, you know?"  
  
Keith blinks. There's a grating sound, and for a second Keith's worried it's Shiro's teeth- but no. Like a beacon, his phone lights up from where it's disappeared under his desk after-...  
  
Oh no.  
  
"Shit," Keith can't help but cuss. He reaches for the hand still cupping his knee. "Shiro-"  
  
"It's okay, if you just want to be friends." Shiro pulls away before their fingers can meet. Keith wants to scream, can feel it building on his tongue, bitter and barbed. No. _No!_ He can feel his eyes widen, lips slack in desperation. Funny, how different the desperation he feels now is in comparison to that of an aching bladder, cold and callous, clawing at his throat. "Keith, I only want what you want."  
  
"But I want _you_ ," he blurts, not sure how else he can save himself. He pushes himself up so he's on his knees beside him, a hand supporting his weight against Shiro's chest. His fingers curl into the worn wool of his fucking dorky knit jumper and he tugs, feels the same jolt in his heart when Shiro looks up at him from beneath heavy lashes with eyes of silver starlight. "Shiro, I want you."  
  
Shiro blinks slow and tilts his head. He looks... not shocked, but as if he were building himself up for something different. Keith watches the armour fall as realisation sets in; a smile that melts into his eyes, a huff of laughter that Keith feels against his cheeks. "You do?"  
  
" _Yeah_." He can hear the _duh_ in his voice, but they're both smiling so wide it goes unnoticed. Keith rests his forehead against Shiro's shoulder for a moment, breathes in the scent of him, Kenneth Cole Black and the balmy warmth of unwashed skin. It's almost enough to make Keith forget that just hours ago he was lying where Shiro now sits, leaking over his knuckles. "I got distracted. It's not a good enough reason, but it's the truth. I'm sorry."  
  
"No, it's okay," Shiro reassures. Keith feels the first, hesitant touch of his fingers carding through his hair. He pushes up into Shiro's palm and feels his nails scratch against his scalp. _Bliss_. He can't believe he gets this. "It's a question I should have asked in person, but I was too, _ahh_ , too afraid of the answer."  
  
"Well, you're here now," Keith says, nudging Shiro's chest with his nose before drawing away. He's still smiling, soft and serene. It makes Keith's heart ache in a way he feels seep through his veins and heat his skin. "And you already know what I'm going to say."  
  
Shiro laughs, flustered at first but morphing into something beautiful, bouncing bright amongst the beat of Keith's heart deep behind his ribs.  
  
"Keith Kogane," he says, slowly, teasing. He cups Keith's jaw with gentle fingers and brushes a thumb over his cheekbone. "Will you go on a date with me?"  
  
Keith chuckles and leans in to press his lips against Shiro's. It only lasts a few seconds but it's enough to leave him light-headed. Years he's wanted to know how Shiro's smile felt against his own, and all it took was a deep breath and the gentle urging of Shiro's palm cradling his chin. He leans in again, longer this time, and lets years of pent-up pining escape his chest, crawl up his throat and breathe life against Shiro's mouth. He can taste it between them, too, in the slow tenderness they exchange, the calm of their caress.  
  
They've got time. They don't need to rush.  
  
Keith pulls away and licks his kiss-swollen lips, smiling as Shiro traces the trail of his tongue with his eyes. "Yeah, I will."  


**Author's Note:**

> this ain't my first fanfic rodeo but it's my first here. hi. i'm gross, i know, but you just might be too if you made it this far.
> 
> there will be more in this verse, i just wanted to finally get something out bc i am a month late (sorry meg)
> 
> big up to tori for reading this through and keeping my word usage in check!
> 
> [ someone had my user so here's another attempt of humour; follow me on twitter @kittycamealot](http://twitter.com/KittyCameAlot)  
> see y'all around
> 
> (soundtrack to this fic was simulation theory by muse and the evanescence orchestral album, sorry not sorry)


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